


Feeling Randy

by Psyromayniak



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, ColdatomWeek2016, M/M, Ray Palmer is Randy Rock, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Terrible Innuendo, bottom!Snart, coldatom, coldatomweek, mentions of possible sugar daddy!snart, terrible stripper names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 02:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6684880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psyromayniak/pseuds/Psyromayniak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard Snart does a job for a mob-connected strip club owner. For his trouble he gets a private dance with a stripper of his choice. Of course, tall, dark and handsome floorshow star <i>Randy Rock</i> is at the top of his list. </p>
<p>Day Four of coldatomweek2016! <strike>Pornstar</strike>/Stripper AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeling Randy

**Author's Note:**

> This was a lot of fun to write!

It wasn’t often that Snart contracted out. He usually found that things like this tended to fall into his lap of their own accord, without having to go through a tiresome middleman. Middlemen were all about negotiation, about finding the right _price_. But then again, Snart did have a certain _skillset_ that was _desirable_ , so why not occasionally let himself be bought? It was easy money, after all, and it wasn’t too far below his dignity.

Leonard Snart was a world class thief, so a little light housebreaking was practically _recreational_. Not to mention the two-hundred-thousand in cash that was waiting for him just as soon as he turned over the necklace to its new proprietor.

It’d been an easy job. Slip into the large house with minimal security, tiptoe past the sleeping residents, take the necklace and slip back out again. The security cameras at the front of the house were basic at best, and a child could have circumvented the burglar alarm. The real meat of the job was the Hamilton safe, but he’d gone up against worse. In and out in thirteen careful minutes, and not a single siren to be heard. And all for the dainty little number now stowed in his breast pocket, all imbued with rubies and intricate gold work. Not his usual style, of course, and definitely not worth the amount he was being paid on the open market. No, this necklace had a _personal_ value to his employer, so there was no use trying to fence it elsewhere.

It was a Saturday night and the club was busy, a line of buzzing patrons queued up by the door. The Cockpit was a lively club at the heart of Central City’s gay district, one of many along the stretch of concrete. Each club was clad in flashing neon signs promising pleasures untold, enticing customers off of the streets to catch a glimpse of their fantasies, behold their dreams – if only giving them the briefest of tastes. The Cockpit was no different than most, billing ‘exotic dancers’ and ‘adult cabaret’ alongside renowned DJs and low-price drinks, but it had a _reputation_. There were lines in The Cockpit that could be crossed, for the right price.

The club’s owner, Michael Delfont, was a legitimate businessman to a point. He ran The Cockpit, of course, and owned by extension a few other bars around Central City, but he had his finger in many other pies. Drug trade, prostitution and low-key weapons trafficking were all firmly tucked under his belt, tied with some heavy connections to the Mob. He had money, and he had sway with the right people, and The Cockpit was his office. Where better to negotiate a deal than surrounded by hot, moving bodies and drowned out by music, on his own turf with his own men ready to step in if anything escalated.

If there had been complications with the job, Snart would have felt he was walking straight into a hornet’s nest. But everything had gone smoothly, and all he needed to do now was hand over the necklace in exchange for his payment.

Snart bypassed the queue and headed straight for the door, taking the steps up two at a time. The bouncer positioned at the entrance stopped him with a hand.

“VIPs only, Sir.”

“I’m here to see Mr Delfont. He’s expecting me.” Snart pursed his lips and looked at the hand currently splayed on his chest with distaste.

“Your name, please?” The bouncer didn’t move an inch.

“Leonard Snart.”

“Of course,” the man retracted his arm and pushed the door open, “a seat has been reserved for you central to the secondary stage; Mr Delfont will be along shortly. Please take the time to enjoy yourself, Mr Snart.”

Snart only grunted in response, entering the club without a backward glance.

The heat of it hit him first, then the music. The club was surging, a writhing mass of bodies all moving as one to the beat. The sweat, the sound of skin against skin, it was _primal_. It grabbed at something deep inside your soul and _pulled_ , a masterful temptress luring you towards your demise. It was a Siren, willing you to crash upon the rocks and drown yourself in your own desire.

If he hadn’t been there on business, maybe Snart would have enjoyed it. But he had a job to do, so he pushed himself through the throng, away from the dancefloor and the DJ’s plinth, instead towards the sign proclaiming ‘BoysBoysBoys’ in blinking pink letters. There were fewer people here, and those that were were sitting; at tables and in booths as topless, muscular men brought them drinks, lounged next to them or engaged them in titillating conversation. Three or four were mid-way through lap dances, straddled by the performers or leant back as the men ground the air close to their faces, gold G-strings glittering.

Ignoring these displays as best he could, Len made his way to the runway at the centre of this quadrant of the club where a man in what he could only assume were fireman’s chaps and little else was currently gyrating. The seating was almost full around the stage, with the exception of the two chairs in line with the very middle of the stage, the backs draped over with a white cloth proclaiming them ‘reserved’.

As soon as Snart sat a champagne flute was pressed into his hand by a young man in a bow-tie and booty shorts, who leaned forward to whisper into his ear.

“Mr Delfont is running a few minutes late, he says to enjoy yourself until he gets here.”

Snart watched him go lazily, his eyes tracking the man’s ass as it bobbed through the crowd, making a mental note to tip the kid if he came back.

Cheers from the men around him brought his attention back to the stage, the fireman seemingly finishing his set. He placed one large hand over his crotch and thrust forward, grunting, which drew more cheers from the crowd. Paper bills rained onto the stage, the dancer practically slut-dropping to collect them, before striding back down the catwalk to the double doors at the end.

Snart sipped his champagne, one leg folded over the other as he reclined in his chair. Rustling around him signified a slight audience change as people got up to get drinks and others sat down in readiness for the next act.

The lights dipped, fading to red as new music began to rumble from the speakers surrounding the runway. Over the top of the music a voice blared out, announcing the next dancer’s approach.

“And now, the man you’ve all been waiting for! Straight outta College, the virile valedictorian ready to settle your sex-starved desires, I give you… _Randy Rock!”_

The bass seemed to drop right out of the bottom of the song and dry ice misted across the stage, strobing spotlights pointed at the double doors at the end. They opened with a crack, strobes flashing, revealing a tall, strong looking figure cast in silhouette.

He walked, no, _strutted_ , towards the crowd, striking a pose at the very end of the runway as the main spotlight clicked on.

Admittedly, Snart hadn’t been expecting much: strip clubs weren’t really his scene, per se, never seeing the appeal in giving away hundreds of dollars to abject – if pretty – strangers and only getting blue balls in return. But there was something about Randy Rock that made Snart’s breath hitch in his throat.

He was about 6’3”, with a perfect shoulder-to-hip ratio and biceps that bulged beneath his tight grey blazer. His dark hair was swept to one side, the large-lensed glasses perched on his nose framing his face perfectly. Strong jawed yet soft featured, the guy seemed to have just walked out of an issue of Vogue and by _God_ did he know it. The way he moved to the music, using the pole in the centre of the stage to ground himself, was nothing short of hypnotic. 

The jacket came off first, thrown to one side, then his shirt was ripped open, revealing strong pecs and a flat, oiled six-pack. Snart couldn’t tear his eyes away, feeling himself grow hard as the thought of pinning the man down and licking him from groin to chin danced in his mind. Then Randy’s pants were gone, ripped off and thrown back, and his skin-tight briefs were exposed.

Snart felt his breath hitch again as Randy jutted his hips forward, his hands pushing their way up his torso, in direct line of Snart’s face. The guy was _huge_ , and those underpants hugged every line of his package, from the bulge of his balls right up to the ridge of his tip.

A hand suddenly clasped Snart’s shoulder, snapping his focus. The owner of the hand grinned and took the seat next to him, throwing his other arm into the air and snapping his fingers at the waiters.

“Mr Delfont, it’s good to see you.”

“ _Leonard!_ I’m so sorry I’m late, a meeting overran. You know how business can be. But I _do_ hope you’re enjoying the entertainment,” he tilted his head towards the stage, where Randy had one leg up against the pole, now only wearing the glasses, his necktie and the tight underwear.

Len nodded, his eyes flicking briefly to the dancer on stage before settling back to his employer’s.

Delfont continued, unabashed. “Now, I do hope everything went well and you have what I requested…”

“Of course. Went without a hitch,” Snart brought his hand up to pat his jacket where the necklace sat, “do you have the money?”

Delfont nodded, grinning as he leant to pick a metal briefcase from the floor and lay it in his lap, “Two-hundred _thousand_ dollars, Mr Snart. All present and correct.”

“Then we’re in business,” Snart reached into his jacket and pulled out the necklace, the rubies glinting in the half-light.

Delfont could hardly contain his glee, almost snatching the necklace from Snart’s fingertips and holding it up. “You know, it might not look it but this is worth so much more than _money_ , Leonard. It’s been in my family for _generations_ … There must be something I can do, something more than just money alone, to thank you?”

Taking the case from Delfont’s lap and opening it a crack to inspect the contents – _all present and correct, indeed –_ Len snorted, slightly perplexed. “Cash is just fine, Delfont. We made a deal, I did the job. No niceties required.”

“Oh come _on,_ Leonard. What does it for you? Drugs? I can hook you up with some of the best H in the city.”

Snart snapped the case shut, turning to the other man incredulously. “ _No_.”

Delfont pressed two fingers to his jaw in thought. “Hmm… how about a private dance? You can use one of the VIP booths in the back – _very_ discrete. You can have any one of my boys, Snart. Or I can order in some girls from across town.”

“Really. I don’t need _anything_ else from you.”

“But Leonard, you don’t understand the _magnitude_ of this. This necklace practically secures my business position for life. That is no small feat,” he leaned closer to Snart, placing a hand firmly on Leonard’s thigh. “A _private_ dance. In a _VIP_ booth. More champagne, and _any_ boy you like.”

Snart sighed. If he turned the man down again it would likely turn ugly, and Michael Delfont was not an enemy we wanted to make, at least not tonight. “Fine. One dance.”

Delfont clapped his hands together, throwing his head back with a grin, “ _Wonderful!_ Which boy would you like? I can bring you the catalogue if you would prefer?”

 

* * *

 

Snart ran his tongue across his teeth as _Randy Rock_ walked into the room. He was clad in a simple red thong, a black dog-collar around his neck. The glasses from his floorshow were gone, his face still framed perfectly by the side sweep of his hair. Snart felt his dick stir at the sight of him, running his eyes greedily over the chiselled arches of his shoulders, his abs, his groin and thighs. Maybe Delfont had been right after all, this _was_ a good idea.

Randy didn’t waste any time. He strode over to the chair Snart had taken residence in, hands smacking down on the armrests, bending low to bring his head level with Snart’s. Len watched this with an enticed expression, head tilted to one side and legs spread apart.

“What do you like?” Randy’s voice was softer than he was expecting, and there was a hint of puppy-like excitement in it, as though he were genuinely thrilled to be giving Snart a lap dance in a shady back room of a club.

Len raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Are you always this enthusiastic with your clientele?”

Randy laughed, holding his position over Snart. “Only when I know they tip well. Come on, what do you like?”

“What’s off the menu?”

“Well,” Randy paused, tilting his head in thought, “touching is usually a no-go, but considering this _is_ a private dance, you can touch me all you like. Kissing, too. If you want. That’s not to say you do, but if you want to we can kiss. Uh…” he paused again, flushing red, “I mean I’m a stripper not a prostitute so that’s as far as it goes on _my_ end but this _is_ a private room so… it’s kind of expected that you, uh, you know….. _finish._ ”

Len smirked, meeting Randy’s eyes. “You know what I like?”

The stripper shook his head and Len continued. “Honesty. _Integrity_. I don’t get much of that in my line of work.”

“Huh,” Randy still hadn’t moved from his vantage point, his muscles seeming not to notice the strain, “usually the answer to that question is ‘bondage and domination’ or ‘catholic schoolboy style’, you know? Not sure how I can work honesty and integrity into a lap dance, or even what costume to pick out…”

Snart shifted so one leg crossed over the other. “It’s easy. Tell me your name.”

“My _real_ name?”

“Yeah, your _real_ name, sunshine. I doubt any self-respecting mother would name their son ‘Randy Rock’”

This brought another smile to Randy’s face and he finally moved, standing straight and swinging his arms a little before turning a slow 360, eyes darting the to the door. “You know, we’re not _supposed_ to tell clients too much about ourselves…”

Len sat up a little straighter himself, his smirk extending. “ _That’s_ why it’s fun, don’t you think?”

After a few moments deliberation, Randy nodded, sticking one hand on his hip and leaning to the side like he was about to do an X-Rated rendition of ‘I’m a little teapot’. Not that Snart was complaining, however.

“It’s Ray. Ray Palmer.”

“Leonard Snart. You can call me Len,” he clasped his hands together in front of him, “so Ray, what brings you to the respected business of stripping, huh? You seem like a smart guy.”

Randy- no _Ray_ licked his lips, shrugging. “The money, to be honest. On a good night I can make about five-hundred bucks in tips. Covers my rent, my food… and it’s mostly nights at weekends. Gives me the week free to work on my thesis.”

“Thesis, huh? You’re at college?”

“Uh, yeah. Post-grad. PhD. _Second_ PhD, actually,” Ray looked sheepish, like he’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He had gone from jumped up sex kitten to awkward nerd in a matter of minutes, and Snart for one found that – _frustratingly_ – even hotter.

He sighed, cursing himself as he made a decision, and stood, walking over to Ray. “When does your shift end, Raymond?”

“Uh, the boss said I could do this and go home, if I wanted to. So, it finishes whenever,” he coughed, “ _you_ finish. Pretty much…”

Snart was close to him, now, maybe three inches away, so he stopped. “See the silver case on the floor behind me?”

Ray looked over his shoulder and nodded, “yeah, I see it.”

“There’s two-hundred thousand dollars in there. In _cash_.” He kept his voice level.

Ray blanched, eyes flicking from the case to Snart and back again. “Why are you telling me this?”

Snart closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose. “How does twenty grand sound to you?”

Ray set his jaw, “like there are strings attached. I’m not a prostitute, Len. Even for that kind of money.”

“I’m not asking you to be. Let me walk you home, that’s it. You can take the money whether you say yes or no, but,” Len opened his eyes, meeting Ray’s steadily, “I’d like to walk you home. A gesture of good will. _Integrity_.”

“I don’t need a sugar daddy, Len.” It was sincere, but Ray was smiling.

Snart broke out into a toothy grin, “I wasn’t suggesting that, Raymond.”

 

* * *

 

Ray’s tenement building was a shabby affair, all grey concrete with a few cracked windows and broken glass laying in the gutter.

“Landlord’s a scumbag but at least it’s cheap...” Ray pulled his coat around himself against the windchill, Snart next to him apparently unfazed by the cold, “but it won’t be forever. I have some ideas that I think can really make a difference, Len. I just need to secure the funding for the research. If I play it right, well, who knows? I could be a rich man in ten years’ time. Or I could be just as broke, stripping for Delfont and accepting large sums of cash from strangers to walk me home.” He grinned at the man beside him.

The walk back to Ray’s apartment had been about a half-hour, and it’d been a half-hour well spent in Snart’s books. He’d listened attentively whilst Ray babbled on about his ideas, about his inventions, and what he might be able to do with them in the future. Ray had asked him a little about himself, and for once in his life he didn’t dodge the questions. He’d told Ray a little of his father, locked up in Iron Heights, but mostly he talked about his sister. About how he’d do anything for her, and do anything to protect her. He omitted the details of his criminal tendencies, only hinting to Ray that he worked somewhere outside of the law. Ray was a smart kid, so he didn’t have to worry about anything being lost in translation. If nothing else, it was unlikely that a man with two-hundred grand in a briefcase in a strip club owned by a known Mob associate was up to anything legal.

Snart turned to Ray, giving him his best shot at a warm smile, “I think you’ll go far, Raymond. Just have a little faith in yourself.” He reached out and put a gloved hand on Ray’s arm, giving it an encouraging squeeze, before turning to walk away.

“Wait!” Snart had managed maybe four steps before Ray came up behind him, taking him by the arm.

And they were kissing. Ray’s arms encircled Snart, pulling him close, his tongue licking into Len’s mouth, pushing down his throat. Len’s hands fisted the wool of Ray’s jacket, responding to the pressure of the other man against him.

Then Ray was pulling him inside, up the filthy steps into the building, then into the elevator that stank of piss. They made out the whole way up to the tenth floor, hands unzipping jackets and finding skin beneath shirts. Ray fumbled for his keys at his door, Snart pulling something thin and metallic from his pocket and picking the lock with a practised ease, even as Ray planted kisses down his neck from behind him.

Formalities forgone, Snart welcomed Ray’s hands on his body, stripping him of his clothes and pushing him onto his bed. Ray straddled him, fully dressed, pressing their mouths together and grinding against his fully hard cock.

There wasn’t any music, and the only lighting was the yellow bulb hanging bare from the ceiling, but Snart was suddenly reminded why Ray had been the star of the floorshow. His movements were rhythmic, provocative in and of themselves, the proximity of the two men only adding to the headiness of the affair.

Snart found himself breathless and gasping as a now near-naked Ray worked his way down his body, taking his cock’s full length into his mouth and sucking, his tongue lapping over his tip before twisting down the underside of the shaft as his head dipped.

The next thing Snart knew he was being fingered, the cold touch of lube sending a welcome shiver down his spine. The crinkle and tear of foil and Ray was asking him if he wanted it, his lips hot against his ear. Affirmation poured out in the way of long, deep kiss, Len’s tongue spiralling against the roof of Ray’s mouth as he dropped a hand to guide the younger man to his entrance.

He felt the blunt tip of Ray’s cock buffet against him once, twice before pushing in. Snart couldn’t keep his mouth closed if he wanted to, couldn’t keep the long, drawn out moan from escaping his lips as Ray filled him, as Ray _fucked_ him.

Ray’s cock, big as it was, wasn’t the younger man’s only sexual advantage; his technique didn’t hinge on his size. Ray’s mouth and hands were busy, caressing every inch of Snart’s skin they could find, planting kisses and licking over his sensitive spots, leaving pink suck marks along his neck and winding around his nipples with care.

Ray also didn’t like to sit still for long. They changed position twice, three times. Ray fucked Len on his back, his legs up and wound around his hips. Then Len was on top, cowgirl style, his hands gripping Ray’s hips as he fucked himself onto the taller man’s length. Snart was on his hands and knees, Ray behind him, his hand moving to jack Lens cock as he rocked harder and faster, balls deep in Len’s ass and moaning with every thrust.

Snart’s arms gave out and he was on his stomach on Ray’s bed, the other man on top of him. Every position, every angle, somehow Ray managed to get the sweet spot. He was driving Snart to the edge of the abyss, pushing harder and harder until he finally, with a groan, gave way. Len was coming, hard, his muscles contracting as his semen spilt over Ray’s sheets. Then Ray was coming too, pressing himself as far into Snart as he could, letting the other man surround him, letting his ass milk his cock of every drop of come he had to give.

Breathing hard, the two men parted at last, both sweating and flushed. Snart moved first, kissing Ray tenderly on the mouth, his fingers trailing over the skin of his thigh.

“Not bad for a twenty thousand dollar lay,” Len was grinning, letting himself flump back onto Ray’s pillows.

Ray grinned back. “Well, money can’t buy everything.”

Snart trailed his fingers up to eventually cup the back of Ray’s head, burying them in his thick, black hair. “Then I’ll have to buy you dinner. How does tomorrow night sound?”

**Author's Note:**

> coming up with Ray's stage name and the name of the club were both quite challenging feats, but I think I squeezed just the right amount of innuendo in there. 
> 
> _I cherish comments!_


End file.
